


Of Tarth

by SandwichesYumYum



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandwichesYumYum/pseuds/SandwichesYumYum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth. A dark fic. Please read the notes and consider all trigger warnings in play. Thank you kindly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Tarth

**OF TARTH**

 

 **IMPORTANT NOTE:** consider **ALL TRIGGER WARNINGS** fired. _Please do NOT read this piece if you will be upset by darker themes._ I in no way wish to cause anyone distress.

My thanks to: RoseHeart, Nurdles, Tamjlee and Coraleeveritas.

DISCLAIMER: I own it not. 

**_ CHAPTER ONE - YUNKAI - JAIME _ **

They are so close now that Jaime's teeth almost seem be aching in anticipation. Directing the timing of this conversation with the hapless fool at his side had been no harder than getting him to alter their path through the city, in order that their small group of visitors may take in the wonders of the 'greatest market ever beheld', as it is being so proudly being proclaimed. 

It is no such thing, even if it is quite large and filled with people from every corner of the known world, but that is a matter of no note. "You insist that slaves are of use, Yeezrakh, but we Westerosi can only consider them a burden. Why keep somebody you have to feed when you can have peasants who will work for you _and_ feed themselves?" 

Addam moves ahead of them with no real urgency, weaving his way through the crowds and looking with convincing interest at some of the goods on offer on various stalls. Yeezrakh's slender arms flutter within his loose, luxurious robes as he laughs reedily at Jaime's supposed foolishness. This is something they have talked of before. "You make a good point, Kingslayer, yet there are some people you cannot put to work in your grassy fields." 

"I am aware of the special skills many of the slaves of Yunkai possess," Jaimes says, easily enough, though there is a ball of anger he has to force them past, inside. 

_That she could be found here, after all this time. Of all places, here._

Addam ducks through between two stalls, one bearing bolts of bright, gauzy cloth and the other colourful, perfumed fruits, to inspect the heady spices being sold in one of the small shops lining the large square in the pillared arcade. He doesn't linger, moving along, but Jaime follows his friend anyway, with Yeezrakh chattering on inanely about the famed charms of the bed-slaves of Yunkai behind him, only then to go on to how they might be useful for Jaime himself. "Even we have heard strange mutterings about your tastes. Perhaps you would like a woman with hair of gold and eyes of green? They are rare here, but there are a few available. For the right price." 

Having seen Addam begin to haggle, at last, with a trader of meat, Jaime has to quench the triumph that swells inside of him, even whilst he spins about to meet the mildly sneering tone of the slaver. _He is now certain. It is Brienne._ "You know nothing of my tastes, Yeezrakh. And if I were to procure a slave, it would be for strength." He lifts his newly coated golden hand and holds it up, just brushing the tip of thin man's nose. "I have difficulty in carrying everything I need, these days. I'm sure you understand." 

Fingers that had been lightly grasping at the air in anticipation of such a costly trade instead reach up to Yeezrakh's nose, as if to check for absent harm, before settling back at his side. That long nose of his twitches though, for he senses another possibility for profit. Perhaps a more likely one, albeit smaller in nature. "Of course, of course," he says, now all obsequiousness. "We have many slaves with great strength in Yunkai." 

Jaime walks over to Addam and looks down at the goat meat and the flies gathering on it, before lifting his gaze to the trader himself, and then lazily past him, to the figure hauling a whole animal carcass onto a bench in the rear. The sight of her alone almost stops his heart, but he merely turns to Yeezrakh. "You could be right." He points. "I will take him. He appears to be strong enough." 

Broad shoulders still, though they are less broad than they once were, made thinner by hunger. A bald head, marked with scars, lifts. 

_Do nothing else, my love._

She is unmoving, as if she has heard his unspoken plea. 

Yeezrakh steps to his side and peers at what can be seen of Brienne's back under her rags, marked as it has been at some time in the past by the scourge. He laughs with cruelty. "You do not want that, Kingslayer. This I promise you. It is a _woman_ , of sorts." 

There is something all too knowing in his tone, so Jaime asks, "Well then, it could be that she will serve me with more than her strength?" 

"She is good enough inside, if untrained, and as she never speaks, there is none of the crying and wailing you get from some. But she injured two men and it took five of them to hold her down for me. Face down, of course, for you haven't seen her yet. She is very ugly," the trader warns. "It is why I sold her to Hurrani, here, not so long ago. He never wants to take full advantage of his slaves." 

Jaime feels rage flow through him, in such a measure he has never felt. Never. And it is cold. He has known it before, but he hadn't known it was as frozen as the snows he fought in in the North. 

_She will be the death of you, slaver. There are ten men and women within earshot who will ensure it. And more beyond._

Addam's fingers wrap painfully around his left elbow, wordlessly bringing Jaime to heel. "You are a thin, little man, Yeezrakh. I am bigger, and I like a challenge. Yes, I think I would like to buy this woman. Addam, could you proceed with that?" 

His childhood friend, who has been searching for Brienne for two years, far longer than Jaime has been free to do so, begins to speak to the butcher in the local form of Valyrian. Jaime can only understand every second or third word, yet something is clear to him. Hurrani had noticed Addam grasping Jaime's arm so fiercely, but makes no attempt to alert Yeezrakh to the possibility of his new slave being far more important than he realizes. Jaime doesn't know why. There is no way for him to tell. He looks to the man beside him, who will die today. "What is this slave's name, Yeezrakh?" 

The slaver, who is clearly disappointed at his choice, gestures towards Brienne. "Look at her arm. Once a slave has been branded, all those who own them must do so when they change hands. The first two marks were made on her in Meereen. And we all know what those dragons did there, when their so-called mother died. There are some from Astapor too. This one has not spoken in all of her time in Yunkai, so her name is lost. She calls herself 'a nameless one', whenever she swears to serve a new owner." 

The news of Daenarys' dragons fleeing the north had been the first sign of the new and disputed Queen's death. That was when Jaime had sent Addam after Brienne, for he could not go himself. He was watched too closely to leave. The word of Meereen being scorched to dust came much later, when Jaime was still mired in Westeros, free, yet unfree. 

As the haggling over the price of Brienne goes on, the vile man next to him laughs and waves a finger at both the butcher and the slave. "Look at that last brand, Kingslayer. It is barely a blister on her skin, though I made him hold it to her for an age. He did not heat it up enough! This fool is too kind. He even pads her chains!" 

So Brienne's current owner does, and Jaime is tempted to think he would leave her to the collar alone, were it not for the sharp knives kept just out of her reach. 

Jaime chooses to fall quiet, counting eight brands sweeping down from Brienne's left shoulder to her forearm, before watching Hurrani and Addam settle on a price. Then he calls out, "You! Slave!" He loathes himself for simply saying it. 

Brienne turns slowly, though she lowers her head in the proper way of one in her position. 

_Two years of this. How your neck must ache, my love._

He wants to see her eyes, so desperately, but he can almost feel her own caution, a call ringing out to him. He listens to her, though she has not yet made a sound. "Can you speak the Common Tongue?" 

She does not raise her head. "I can, my Lord." Her voice has the dry rasp of the long unused about it.

Yeezrakh lets out a cry of despair. "Had I known that, I could have gotten a higher slave-price for her!" Jaime can only think that it is a sign of the longevity of slavery here, that one who trades in them would not necessarily think one as pale as Brienne of Tarth would know the tongue of Westeros. It is an unwelcome thought. 

"You can comfort yourself with the knowledge that Hurrani got a poor amount of coin as well," Jaime says blandly. "Step forward, slave." As Brienne waits for the butcher to release the long chain leading from one of the bands circling her ankles to the small back room, he turns to Addam. "You know what is to be done?" 

"Yes," is the the whisper in his ear. "So does _she_ , Jaime." That last is spoken as if he is lacking possession of a mind, but they have been searching for so long, and neither of them had ever truly thought they would find her alive. It turns out that large women are more common than they knew, in Essos. 

Untethered, Brienne comes closer and it occurs to Jaime that he and Addam had hardly discussed this part, as if there weren't a hope of it. Yet one thing is certain. They cannot make any move until Brienne is fully sold for the last time. Their numbers here are greater than are known, but unless they follow the hideous local proprieties, they will not make it back to their ship and out to sea alive. 

Jaime watches Brienne, her head still bowed, falling to her knees in front of him with absolute revulsion. She begins to speak loudly in the local words he can only just grasp. 

Addam explains swiftly, a mere whisper in his ear. "Since Danaerys died, the slavers have regained ground, and have become far harsher. Slaves must swear an oath when they are traded, with witnesses. But Jaime," he says, with an uncertain pause,"for the troublesome slaves, the _branded_ ones, it is harder." 

He is distracted for a moment by a scar on Brienne's head. A glancing blow, not too hard, but it would've bled a lot. "Tell me," Jaime quietly orders Addam. 

"You have to cut through her most recent brand, Jaime. Then you have to mark her too." 

"I will _not_ brand her," Jaime hisses harshly, trying to appear unconcerned, all too aware that this exchange is being watched by Yeezrakh's guardsmen as Brienne continues to speak, her head lowered to about the level of his knees. 

"I'm not sure you have to," Addam tells him. "The mark only has to be acceptable to the slave's prior owner." Jaime feels a tug on his sleeve. "We should take Hurrani and his family with us, if we can. He has been too kind to her. It will be noted." 

Jaime turns to look at the butcher, and understands that this a man who is seeing his world fall apart. He seems to know that, once this newly bought slave of his is gone, he will be blamed for the escape of Brienne of Tarth, though he can't possibly know it is her, just yet. 

For he is likely good. That he has bought a slave at all appals Jaime, but then he looks down at Brienne's wrists and sees how loose the chains about them are. How thick the padding. The butcher has gone out of his way to find the most comfortable way of having Brienne with him, entirely possibly just to get her away from the slaver, and one last glance is enough to convince him that this man and his kin are not unkind. 

"Where is his family?" he quietly asks Addam, as the woman he loves continues to grovel sickeningly at his feet. 

"They will live above here." 

"Then they can come. But it won't be long until we leave. You will have to get them aboard swiftly." Addam leans over the close to rotting meat to mutter to Hurrani and it calls the zealous gaze of Yeezrakh, fixed as it was to Brienne and her words, for she has clearly been precise in her uttering of this recently formed oath. 

Addam shrugs. "I asked for more goat to be taken to our ship. The crew like a supply of fresh meat, when they can get it," he says blithely, and the slaver seems to accept it. 

"He will struggle find fresh meat here," the short man titters, pleased with his own humour as he grins harshly down at Brienne and adds, "of any sort." 

It takes every shred of will in Jaime not to simply open the man's throat right here. 

He can hear Addam's effort to maintain a sense of calm next to him, his breath hissing out quietly from between his teeth. It is Brienne who breaks the sudden silence, the rattle of the chains linking her arms, and those doing the same at her ankles, loud in this small space as she rises, surrounded though they are by the noises of the market. As Jaime swallows down his ire, he gets one glimpse of blue. _Let him talk.He does not know he is killing himself._ He can almost listen to her saying it as she ignores the slur, her lips, cracked and sore in places as they are from being worried by her teeth, almost twitching into something like bleak amusement. 

She lowers her head again and holds her tethered, branded arm out toward Jaime. He has to grasp his dagger firmly as he pulls it from its sheath, bending every thought to the task of not letting his hand shake whilst he slices shallowly through the recently healed, small brand, no bigger than the pad of a child's thumb, made by Hurrani. Brienne could be made of stone for all of her reaction. 

He goes to make another small slice, his own mark, but then Yeezrakh is at Brienne's side, peering down at his blade in outrage. "No, Kingslayer! You stupid Westerosi do not understand! There must be fire, to seal the oath. It is _law_!" The man's soft, yellow sleeve brushes against Brienne and Jaime is frozen into stillness by a shaft of rage he can barely supress. 

_Do not touch her._

He clenches his jaw, his words just kept in, and the slaver must think Jaime's anger to have been stoked by the insult to his people. The short man flutters his hands in frustration. "It is the law, I swear it!" 

Jaime sees Addam gently move Brienne closer to Hurrani's small display at the front of his shop. It is a mere step or so, but it is enough. He lets the tension in him ease and gives the slaver a small smile. "Then I thank you for informing me of your customs. Though I would appreciate you not calling me stupid. This is the first time I have ever bought a slave." 

"This much is known! You would not be buying this one if you knew any better!" The fool's own outrage turns into a weak kind of pity. He folds his arms across his chest and looks up at Jaime with disingenuous sympathy, unable to mask the true reason for its being there at all. "But you do not own her yet, Kingslayer. And I have many, very good slaves. Are you sure you would not like to see them?" 

"Not this time. Look," he says, pointing at Addam. "There is one of my daggers, already being heated in Hurrani's oil lamp. It is very convenient." In fact, it is Addam's dagger, barely wider than a dirk and far more slender than Jaime's, being held over the low flame by the butcher. Jaime will have to thank his friend for that small mercy later on. "Though I feel we will be having dealings with you very soon, Yeezrakh. You have been so enlightening today." 

"That is good!" The slaver appears delighted at this, and Jaime ignores his unrivalled idiocy by stepping to take the blade from Addam's hand. 

"I'm sorry, my Lady," Jaime breathes, and applies it swiftly to her skin. It feels like he holds it to her for a lifetime, listening for the sound of his love burning, but it can't be, because suddenly his hand is jerked equally quickly backwards by Addam as Hurrani lets forth a loud, ullulating cry. 

It is a sound Jaime has heard at least three times this morning. He looks at Addam in confusion. "The trade is complete," Addam explains, and Jaime allows himself a moment of relief, mixed as it is with the darker knowledge that he has heard three others being bought today as well. 

"Gather them," he tells Addam, who starts signalling a few of their people nearby. 

He turns to find Yeezrakh trying to catch sight of Brienne's new mark. He gives the slaver a moment of the space he needs to do so, before steering him firmly away from her whilst the man sneers up at him, unimpressed. "That brand is smaller and paler than Hurrani's!" 

Jaime pats him heavily on the shoulder, thinking at speed. "Yes, but as you heard, he has agreed it will serve and she is so scarred already. In truth, Yeezrakh, Ser Addam was not just speaking to Hurrani of goat. He had to explain about a Westerosi matter, and Hurrani was very good about it." He leans in, as if sharing a secret. "You see, the dresses of the Westerosi women have such strange sleeves. Looser even than yours, at the ends." Jaime tugs slightly too hard on the yellow material that had slithered over Brienne. "Too many marks on skin distress the noble womenfolk. And there is one highborn woman in particular whom I would not wish to upset, if you take my meaning." 

"I see!" Yeezrakh says, putting his sleeve back to rights. He gazes past Jaime to Brienne, who is being slowly swallowed up by the growing presence of a group of her own people. "But Kingslayer, I do not think any dress could make this one less ugly." 

Jaime looks at the back of Brienne's head. Bowed. Still. Listening. "Then I may have to give her breeches instead. Perhaps my lady would like that better." 

He waves his hand in her direction. "Do I own this one now?" 

"Yes, yes," is the flustered reply, "but you have made an unwise choice, Kingslayer." 

"Then I had best get her back to my ship, before she tries to escape. Come sunrise, she may find it harder when there is nothing but ocean to be seen." _Yes, my love, we will be gone from here. Soon._ "Thank you for your guidance, Yeezrakh." He turns to his friend. "Addam, you will finish up here?" 

The man who has spent two whole years of his life searching for Brienne is pawing at some rancid looking meat with far more interest than is necessary. Addam is good, but after a while he can overdo things. He gets bored, and complicates matters as a result. Not that Jaime would ever complain about it. He has been known to do so himself, from time to time. "Yes, I will follow, Ser Jaime. Hurrani has just gone to fetch more goat." 

Jaime moves to the group now enclosing Brienne, keeping her safe. "We must guard this one closely," he tells them, loudly enough for Yeezrakh to hear, even if he is about to depart. "I am told she may try to escape. We will take her straight to our ship, to secure her." Though not a single face turns to Brienne, or gives any sign of anything other than seriousness at his words, Jaime fancies he can feel a quick wave of joy ripple through the men. It is gone very soon, however, for they are not out of danger yet. 

They begin to move through the square, though their pace is limited by the chains linking Brienne's ankles. Jaime hates the very sound of them. If it is this bad for him, he cannot think how dreadful it is for her, who has been forced to bear them. 

As they turn to make its way into the main flow of the market, Jaime glances back, only to see that the slaver and his men have not moved from their places, remaining far too close to Addam. And with the chance of a prime view of a family who will shortly be running for their lives. 

Jaime makes a decision in a heartbeat. What he is about to do is a risk, of that there is no doubt, and it will complicate their escape, but he will not leave the friend who has been the means of finding Brienne in such danger, nor even those who have recently given her safety, in a manner of speaking. 

"Yeezrakh, perhaps you would like to come aboard and speak of your business with me?" Jaime shouts. "You said something about green and gold?" 

Having caught the fool's attention, he does not wait, knowing it is better to bait a hook and leave it alone than loom over the water like a giant. He quickly rejoins their party and waits as they make their way past stall after stall of exotic items. He gets a touch nervous as they reach the other end of the marketplace, only to hear hurried footsteps when they pass through the arch leading out onto the narrow street which leads to the harbour. 

"I truly do not think this one was a good choice, Ser Jaime!" the slaver calls after him, panting by the time he catches up with Jaime, who thinks it amusing that now there is more promising talk of coin, he is no longer 'Kingslayer'. "I keep telling you, have some far better slaves you might want to see. As you say, green and gold, yes? Green and gold!" 

Jaime peers down at the slaver chidingly as his four personal guards take position behind their master. "I do want to talk to you about that, but perhaps when we are not so crowded?" 

"Of course, of course," Yeezrakh says, almost tripping over his own tongue in his renewed eagerness. "I am very discreet!" 

"I know that," Jaime agrees, meaning nothing of the sort. He looks at Brienne, who is doing exactly as she should, but worries that the slaver will think it odd that she has made no attempt to break free. He could think of five or six reasons why this would be so, but decides to take a lesson from his late father, and let Yeezrakh find one for himself. "As for my new slave, she seems quite biddable. She doesn't even look like she will _try_ to escape, to me." He pours as much disappointment into his voice as he can, all the while silently pleading with Brienne to do no such thing. 

A girl with dark, curly hair laughs as she scampers past them, weaving easily through the throng and disappearing ahead, unnoticed by Yeezrakh, who is busy thinking. 

_One of ours. That was well done, Addam. She will warn the crew._

The thin man at his side frowns at Brienne, but then his gaze settles on the swordbelt of a particularly large Tarthian, just ahead of them in their escort. His fingers lightly slap together in happiness at his own cleverness. "Ah, Ser Jaime, but that is because your men are armed, yes? Perhaps I should have made sure mine were when I had her brought to my bed. I just don't like having all those weapons around when I take a woman. It's very distracting." 

The Tarthian's fingers twitch alarmingly on his hearing that, but his hand does not otherwise move. Nor do Jaime's, though he is sorely tempted. Hold to the task, man, Jaime thinks. We have to get our Lady of Tarth to the ship first. "Yes. That might have been your mistake," he says, as smoothly as he can. 

_Because then she could've opened you from throat to cock. And all your men too._

He pats Yeezrakh on the shoulder, again with more force than is warranted, but less than would be considered unfriendly. "Still, I'm sure you will not make it again." 

"No, indeed!" the slaver laughs, and Jaime is all too pleased to be leading him to his death. 

Their walk to the dockside is not long, though Yeezrakh notices that the street seems more busy than usual today, unknowing that many of the people filling it are there for Brienne. There are two other ships anchored out in the harbour, flagged as being from the Stepstones, who have been sending all sorts of ordinary looking folk to the market place since before dawn. Yet few of them are. Tarth's new allies in the south are useful, if not entirely lawful, and this street has effectively been secured all day. 

They emerge onto the harbour front and Jaime just about catches sight of a torch being extinguished on the farthermost of the Stepstones vessels. Far off, on the horizon, a flickering light goes out as well. Their message has been sent. It is almost time to leave. There is a certain amount of shoving and barging as they make their way along to the end of the nearest dock, and their ship. Yeezrakh and his guards are quite badly buffeted by those swirling about them, which distracts them very well from the sight of the boat being rowed out to drop their ketch anchor for the first haul. 

_Everything is in place._

They make their way up the two gangplanks, and Jaime is grateful that Yeezrakh is only slowly edging his way up the other one when he hears that same Tarthian guard, ascending between Jaime and Brienne, saying, "Careful, my Lady." 

"Not yet," he hisses, and the man falls silent. 

Jaime steps on to the deck with a sharp sigh of relief, and quickly moves to where Brienne and Pod stand, facing one another. 

Brienne is almost shaking at the sight of her boy, and Pod is filled with both relief and horror at the state of her. They have only moments to spare and they have to speak swiftly and in hushed whispers, without sharing anything that he, for one, would want to. "Pod, when you do as I tell you to, you will remove those fucking chains. I don't care if you have to _saw_ them off her. Get them off." 

He doesn't even wait for a reply, turning to eyes of blue in a barely lifted head. Jaime pushes a heartbeat of drowning in them aside, for there is no time. "Brienne, do you want to kill this man?" 

"I-I don't know," she stutters, the freedom of choosing simply too fresh for her. And it is hardly a small offer, Jaime thinks. "But I want to see it." Those words are firm. This she wants. 

"Done," he says. "Then be guided by me. If you feel you can still trust me." 

She looks at him as if he is an idiot. "Always." 

_There she is._

"Then you will get that choice, my love. _Drop your head_." She does so without question, even as the tiniest of smiles plays on her lips. 

_My love._

Jaime wants to smile too, merely at having said it, but Yeezrakh finally steps onto the deck and so instead he proclaims, "Pod, I have bought a slave! You are to take her to my cabin and see that she is cleaned and put into something other than those rags she is wearing. Then bring her back to me." 

"Of course, Ser," Pod stammers, his skills at pretense as poor as they ever have been, but the welter of emotions running through him making him impossible to read anyway. "You will come with me," he tells Brienne, as firmly as he can, then leading her to the small door at the rear which is Jaime's own. 

The slaver gazes at the departing pair curiously, before grinning up at Jaime. "You did not warn him not to touch her and he appears a tepid sort. Why, he looked scared of her!" Jaime is glad of that, though he had not seen it. "You might find your cabin full of pieces of a Pod, no?" 

Jaime affects an air of indifference. "That could be. If not, I'm sure he will have learned from the experience." He leads the slaver over to the small, square table and chairs which have been precisely positioned on the deck, towards the bow. Having a crew almost entirely composed of those missing a few knuckles from their smuggling days can be quite useful. "Please sit." 

The slaver takes the seat Jaime indicates, giving him what he must think is the upper hand in their fortchcoming conversation. From his viewpoint, Yeezrakh can see much of what is happening on deck. And a lot will be going on, to capture and keep his attention. The crew will ensure it. He clearly has no idea he has been given what those who ply the seas call the Dead Man's Chair. 

Yeezrakh's four guards form up behind their Master, just as they should. 

_Perfect_. 

Whether the slaver notes that Jaime offers no food or drink to him he cannot say, but nothing is said. He doesn't even know if the guest right holds in Essos, but he will not give any reason for it to be claimed it was broken. Now all Jaime has to do is keep the small man from looking behind him until everybody has made it to the ship. He needs any surviving guards to have as little time to raise the alarm as possible as they ketch out to the Painted Sister, a far larger ship which will haul them out to open water. 

_Hurry, Addam._

He leans on his elbows and strokes his short beard, as if in thought. "What have you have told me today has been very interesting. And I do intend to inspect the slaves you described to me, for my own personal use." 

"Green and gold," Yeezrakh says, with an eager grin. 

"Yes," Jaime agrees. "Yet it seems to me that there is a chance of growing a greater trade between our peoples." 

The slaver appears doubtful. "What about your laws? They are strict, are they not?" 

"They are, but they are very weakly enforced in some parts of Westeros. You must have heard of the pleasure houses of Sunspear, yes?" 

That catches his interest. "Yes, I have. I should like to visit them, some day." 

"They are wondrous, Yeezrakh. So full of beauty. And once they come to see the benefits of having whores who need only feeding, I cannot help but think that the idea will be welcomed. They are quite lawless. In fact, the Dornish scorn the laws of King's Landing with every breath." 

The slaver nods with some enthusiasm. "I had _heard_ this!" 

"And it is not just there," Jaime tells him. "What do you know of the North, Yeezrakh?" 

He watches the fool scrabble about in his thoughts, trying to dredge up anything he knows about the farthest reaches of Westeros and Jaime's fingers itch to be done with him now. After a long wait, the slaver speaks. "Very little," he admits. "I have heard it is cold. That the people there are savages." 

"And that they are, Yeezrakh." He leans forward, drawing him in. "Do you know, that when I was fighting in the North, I even met a man called 'The Husband of Bears'?" 

This is met with a look of shock. "Truly?" 

"Yes." Jaime glances up at Tormund Giantsbane, stood atop the fo'castle as he is, grinning down at him from his place by the capstan, waiting to bring in the ketch anchor. "He was enormous and had the longest beard I've ever seen. And he talked about fucking bears all the time. I didn't believe it at first, but he described it so often I have come to think it was true." 

One of the many barrels being moved about for no reason falls and cracks open behind Jaime, and he twists in his seat to see wine spilling out across the deck. There is much cursing at this unhappy and completely contrived event, and one of the younger lads even manages to stage a most spectacular slip in the wet. He goes a little too far with the grogginess when he stands however, looking more like he has been in a tavern for two days, but Jaime doesn't suppose that anyone used to climbing rigging all day would be well paid as a mummer. He is carried off with much commotion, and then at least a half a dozen of the crew begin to frantically scrub the deck. For good measure, one of them starts to suck on the rag he is using. 

_They'll want more gold for this._

Jaime turns back to the slaver. "These things happen. Where was I? Ah, yes. Bears." 

This calls the attention of Yeezrakh back from the chaos in front of him. "Bears." He appears somewhat confused at the idea. "I have traded bears before, Ser Jaime, but never for the bedchamber. It is very unusual. Do you think this 'Husband of Bears' would like to buy some? Would we have to rip out the claws and teeth?" 

Jaime smiles as he hears Tormund chortling away above them. "I am not certain, Yeezrakh, but it is possible. I will have to ask him, the next time I see him. However, if a man of the North will fuck a bear, I do not think that the Westerosi laws on keeping slaves will hold any meaning there." 

"No. Indeed." Yeezrakh mulls over the chance of trading with the West, and the thought of being the first in this new market seems to be a good one. In the end, he taps his fingers merrily on the table. "I think that there is much promise in this notion of yours, Ser Jaime. I think we could both become very rich men. Richer, in your case, no?" he laughs. But then it falls away as Jaime almost feels the woman he loves emerge from his cabin. She walks softly out to the middle of the deck, in breeches and a sleeveless shirt, and stands with her head lowered. 

_Good work, Pod._

The slaver is apalled by the sight before him. "Where are her _chains_ , Ser Jaime? She is very a dangerous one." He leans forwards and hisses out a warning. "I've told you, she injured two of my guardsmen _very_ badly." 

"That is a great pity for you, Yeezrakh," Jaime consoles him. "But as you see, she is unarmed and I, the Kingslayer, am not. And as the whip seems not to have worked with her before, I think that the promise of a life free of chains may prove to see her a more useful sort. Who knows? She might become a different person entirely." He turns to Brienne and waves at the lone empty seat, postioned to one side, between himself and the man who hurt her so very badly. "You will sit here or you will go and wait in my cabin until we find some tasks for you." 

_It is your choice, my love. Either way, this man is about to die._

His words enrage the slaver. "Why do you give her a choice, Ser Jaime? She is a _slave_! This is not right. It is not how things are done. If we are to work together, I cannot see the traditions of my home thrown away in such a manner." This only results in Brienne silently coming and sitting in the offered seat, curling her hands over the edge of the table to stop them from shaking. They are all she looks at. Jaime wants nothing more than to hold her, to lend her his strength to add to her own, which feels blinding to him, but Addam has not yet returned. And what is blinding to him is making the slaver spit with anger as he points furiously at Pod, who has drawn close to the woman he regards as a mother. "You! Go and retrieve her chains. I will not sit at a table with a slave who wears none. It is obscene!" 

_And you are one to speak of obscenities, are you?_

Jaime looks at the young man and tells him more with a slight narrowing of his eyes than he does with his mouth. "Do as he says, Pod." 

It is to his credit that a lad who is now so gangly could take so long to traverse a deck of only middling length. Pod slouches, he groans and he shuffles his way across to Jaime's cabin. 

"Look how slowly he moves!" Yeezrakh cries out. "You see, Ser Jaime? This is why you need slaves. I would have him _beaten_ for his insolence!" 

"Ser Jaime?" Jaime lets out a sigh of relief. 

_At last._

"Is that everyone, Addam?" 

"It is," his friend confirms. 

"Give them a good cabin," Jaime says. 

"They can have mine," is the reply, as feet are heard traipsing down ladders to the deck below, alongside not a few strangled sobs. 

This sudden departure will be hard on the butcher's family, Jaime thinks, as the slaver looks from the group descending into the hull of the ship to him in outright confusion. "What is the meaning of this?" he spits. 

"Hurrani and his family are going on a journey, Yeezrakh," Jaime informs him, pleasantly enough. Then that is all gone and the truth is left. "As are you. Though yours will be a little shorter." 

Only now does the fool _see_. He jerks his head about and finds his guards have been silently disarmed behind him. They stand within a bristling arc of short, sharp blades, borne by those who know Brienne, and some who have never seen her before this day. All of them, however, are sworn to her island. 

The slaver begins to shake in his seat and a longer, newly extended sword tip scratches at the side of his throat. "I would stay very still, if I were you, Yeezrakh," Jaime advises, as many of the crew start to line the sides of the ship, obscuring the view. Drawns swords are common on board ships, but deaths might be noticed in port. "It could buy you time. Not much, I'll grant you. But some. We have an introduction to make. It would be impolite of us to kill you without your knowing why, after all. I realize you think we Westerosi are all barbarians, but we do have some manners." 

Slowly he lifts his hand and rests it over Brienne's, as light as a feather. The warmth this first feel of her skin in three years sends through him is only increased when there is the slightest rub of her blunt, rough thumb against his smallest finger. 

_ My love. You are alive.  _

Yet not unhurt. 

Jaime lets the sheer elation of this simple touch pour away from him and fills himself instead with the remembered chill of the ice which had ached in his very bones in the North. He stares at the small man, who is now shivering under the blazing Essosi sun, opposite him. 

"Yeezrakh zo Zarryn, I would like to introduce you to Brienne Lannister of Tarth. _My wife_." 

A low, strangled moan worms its way out of the slaver's throat and his skin takes on an ashen cast as he fully understands how close his end is come. There is the distinct sound of piss hitting the deck as his gaze flickers towards Brienne in abject horror. "The Maid of Tarth?" the small man stutters out. 

"And so she still was, when I last saw her," Jaime says. "We were wed for less than an hour before we rode into our last battle together. Tell me, given that I am now a Kingslayer twice over, what do you think I would be willing to do to the likes of you, who has dared to harm my beloved so?" 

He can feel the obvious question in the twitch of Brienne's hand underneath his own. One look alone is enough. 

_Later, my love. I shall tell you everything once we have dealt with this vermin_. 

He turns his attention back to the quivering slaver and cannot deny to himself that he enjoys watching the sweat breaking out on his skin. 

Jaime smiles, and it cuts far more deeply than this Smiling Knight has ever done before. "Oh, but I am misleading you, Yeezrakh. I will not harm you today." He watches a moment of relief wash over the man, before adding, with chilling finality, "Unless Brienne wishes it." 

Words begin to tumble out of Yeezrakh's mouth. All of them unwise. "She did not bleed for _me_!" Though that strikes like a knife blow, Jaime simply strokes Brienne's hand, for in the end, it doesn't matter. And the slaver goes on. "And had I known who she was, I would not have harmed her. I would have kept her safe for you, Kingslayer!" 

"For a high price, no doubt," Jaime says, with a great deal of harshness. "And I do not think your words are helping your cause, either way. It doesn't matter what you say you would have done. What matters is what you _did_." He smiles again, and still it cuts. "And even now you make the easiest of mistakes, Yeezrakh. Every time we have met, I have smelt your scorn and fear of me. You stink of it. Yet your thinking is all wrong. You have clearly heard of the Maid of Tarth." He leans in and glares across the table. "Tell me what you know of her." 

The man is now rigid in his seat and the sounds that come out are small, though they are heard by all on this now silent deck. "That she was the fiercest of warriors. That she was honourable. That she fought in many battles. That she died in Braavos." 

"Then she must be mighty indeed to be sitting right here, very much alive. It looks like she will even outlive you. Don't fear me, Yeezrakh zo Zarryn. _Fear her_." 

The man begins to whimper. Jaime ignores it and gently pats his wife's hand. He pulls out his dagger and looks at how it shines, the tempering a wave in the sunlight. "I can do this, Brienne, if that is what you want. It is up to _you,_ my love." But then a small matter occurs to him, and Jaime gestures at her left arm, making sure his blade is pointing harmlessly away from her. She understands immediately and twists her far limb around so he can get at that blasted mark on her. "And before I forget," Jaime quietly offers, as he scratches ever so lightly across the tiny burn, which still doesn't seem to hurt her, "now you are free." He looks about them, in question. "I do not know if that is how it is done, but are we agreed?" 

One of Yeezrakh's guard nervously stammers, in the Common Tongue, "Yes. It is. And it is so witnessed." 

He seems then to tell his brothers-at-arms. "You have our thanks," Jaime tells him, noting that while two more of the slaver's guardsmen nod in agreement, one glares at Brienne with the purest fury. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. Addam is there. "You guessed well. It _is_ done," he says. 

Jaime wipes the edge of the blade on his right sleeve, though there is little enough of Brienne's blood to clean from it. Then he places it gently on the table, the light thunk of the hilt making the doomed slaver groan lowly in his throat. 

Jaime's wife picks up his dagger and tests the sharpness of it with a calloused fingertip. "It has a good edge," she says, very quietly. She glances at Jaime. "Pod's work?" 

"He has grown much better at it," Jaime says. 

She holds his blade still, the handle in the palm of her hand for a little while. And then, she simply folds her thumb over the end of the hilt and slides the point of the dagger into Yeezrakh zo Zarryn's chest. She pulls it back out and merely watches as the man slumps forward and breathes out his last, face down on the table. It may be too kind an end, to Jaime's thinking, but there is some justice in _that_. And Brienne has always been kind. 

"You are very forgiving," he says to her. There is no judgment in it. 

"I am tired of violence," she says, a small frown on her cracked lips as she puts the dagger back down, with some care. "Still...," she pauses, before lifting both her hand and her voice at the guard Jaime had noticed for his scorn. "The tallest one." 

The words are barely uttered before the largest guard is staring down in utter bewilderment at the end of the bolt which is buried in his chest. He collapses to the deck with a loud thud and none of his fellow guards seem too upset about it. They all look about and see the girl who had run down the street ahead of them earlier almost dancing down from the rigging, a small crossbow slung over her forearm. Fleet of foot, she disappears into the hold without a word. 

As Jaime tries to remember the girl's name, Brienne lightly taps at his arm, frowning down at the table again. "That was not for me, Jaime." 

"Brienne," he says, with real urgency, "you need offer no explanation, unless you wish to. Never. Any of the others?" 

She seems to examine the faces of the three remaining guards, before shaking her head. "No." 

"Good," he says, and looks to his crew. "Take these away. And get ready." 

There is a storm of movement around them. Many of those aboard run to their places, ready to make their departure as swift as possible. Boys and young men fly up the rigging, waiting to unfurl their sails as soon as they have some wind. Tormund bellows for those expected to help him at the capstan and a few deckhands remove the bodies of the dead men with no ceremony at all. Even the blood is wiped away within a minute. While this is going on, the three guardsmen stand nervously, though now there are far fewer blades at their backs. 

Jaime addresses them. "You will take a message to the Wise Masters of this city. Tell them what we have done here, and why. Tell them that the unmarked and heavily armed fleet anchored off Yaros will even now be running up the flag of Tarth. Any attempt to hinder our leaving will be met with force. And tell them we have enough people left in Yunkai to take a fair bite out of it as well. If we make passage safely, no one else will come to harm. Though you might want warn anyone who has laid so much as a finger on my wife to start running now. Those, and those alone, we will be back to call upon. Do send them our regards." 

As only one of them seems to understand the Common Tongue, Addam has spoken in Valyrian alongside him. Jaime asks him to make sure they have the message, and he and Brienne sit in quiet whilst it is assured. "Word for word," Addam tells him. Jaime nods. 

"Then let them leave and get us out of this cesspit." 

Still they sit, as the men of Yunkai are shown off the ship and the gangplanks are hastily pulled in. There are shouts everywhere, and the hiss of ropes rasping when they are pulled up, over the edge of the ship. Then comes the sound of men frantically working the capstan, pulling the whole ship with their efforts. 

A particularly salty curse makes Brienne smile, but it as gone as soon as it forms. She gazes at him in worry. "How many are we leaving behind, Jaime?" 

He simply smiles at her. _"None,_ Brienne." 

"Trebuchet?" she asks mildly, and Jaime recalls how livid she'd been about that threat when she found out about it, until he explained that he was bluffing all along. 

"Trebuchet," he says. "Having a terrible reputation can be a help, you know. People will believe you capable of almost anything." 

Brienne touches his hand briefly, even fondly, but then she looks behind him, at the place they are trying so hard to depart. "They will tear the city apart to find people who aren't there, won't they?" 

"It buys us the time we need, my love." 

She nods in agreement, but seems suddenly filled with a great, aching sort of sadness. She looks bone weary, weighed down to the point of exhaustion. "I need to sleep." 

"Then rest, Brienne. You can take my bed. Then I will answer any questions you have." He picks up her hand in his own and cradles it, almost afraid to venture anything further. "You are safe now." 

She wraps her fingers about his, so gently that is as if she can hardly believe he is there. Then she lets go. "I know," Brienne says softly, and stands. "I think I would like to be alone for a while." Jaime nods and rises himself, the sway of the ship under his feet larger than it should be for a moment, and sees her slowly walk over to his cabin, with a sense that she is somehow apart from all of this. He doesn't wish her to be, but he fears she will be for a time yet. It is understandable. And then he does exactly what he does not want to do. 

For right now, all Jaime wants to do is go to his wife and tell her that he loves her, and that whatever she has endured, this will never change. He wants to hold her and see her and even smell her, because he has forgotten so much, despite his grasping on to what he remembered of her so hard, for so long. But he knows he must listen to what she needs first. His wants are meaningless, in comparison. 

Instead, he climbs up onto the fo'castle, to the expected jeers from Tormund about his general uselessness, alert for any attack. He is no natural sailor, but he knows almost everything there is to know about matters military. And he will not be able to rest himself until the Sapphire is under full sail, when almost no other ship can outrun her. Only then will he truly allow himself to think his wife out of danger. He watches the ketch anchor being deposited safely back into the rowing boat once more, and the men in it pulling away on their oars. 

He takes a quick look at Yunkai, which appears to be in no state of alarm, as of yet. Then he goes to find Addam. Jaime needs to know how their stocks of weaponry stand, and his friend will have a better idea of what has been brought on board. The two bodies, already tied up in sacks and attached to a few ballast stones, waiting to be thrown overboard when they hit open water, barely tug at his attention as he passes them by.


End file.
